


in the conservatory with the candlestick

by villiageidiot



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Boys In Love, Crack Treated Seriously, Girls in Love, Idiots in Love, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, NO ONE IS ACTUALLY MURDERED THOUGH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villiageidiot/pseuds/villiageidiot
Summary: Jace pretends he definitely absolutely certainly does not have a thing for the weekend DJ, while Simon is into the club’s bouncer – who seems to genuinely hate him.Clary just wants to take things to the next level with her favorite server, while Isabelle’s too terrified to mess up and lose what she has with the bartender.And Magnus has been in love with the club’s primary investor and silent partner since the first day they met, while Alec is head-over-heels for the club’s owner – who only wants to be friends.But none of that matters. What matters is – who killed the night manager?*(The Clue AU no one asked for.)
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Jace Wayland
Comments: 45
Kudos: 178





	in the conservatory with the candlestick

**Author's Note:**

> NO ACTUAL MURDER, I SWEAR.
> 
> A million thank yous to [notquiteascrazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteascrazy/pseuds/notquiteascrazy) for the invaluable help and encouragement!!

Jace pretends he definitely absolutely certainly does not have a thing for the weekend DJ, while Simon is into the club’s bouncer – who seems to genuinely hate him.

Clary just wants to take things to the next level with her favorite server, while Isabelle’s too terrified to mess up and lose what she has with the bartender.

And Magnus has been in love with the club’s primary investor and silent partner since the first day they met, while Alec is head-over-heels for the club’s owner – who only wants to be friends.

But none of that matters. What matters is – who killed the night manager?

*

_Detective Garroway turns first to Alec Lightwood._

_“Can you describe to me your connection to the club, Mr. Lightwood?”_

_Alec shifts uncomfortably. “I’m the primary investor in the club. A silent partner.”_

_“The primary investor?” Luke asks, jotting a few things into his notebook. “And why were you here tonight?”_

_Alec’s gaze flickers quickly to Magnus. “Just – checking in,” he answers._

_“Checking in?” Luke echoes with a skeptical look. “Do you ‘check in’ often with your other real estate properties?”_

_“No,” Alec says, face impassive. “But this is my most profitable asset, so I think it’s prudent to verify its viability from time to time.”_

_“From time to time,” Luke says to himself, writing in his notebook again. “Because we’ve determined from the surveillance footage that you’re here every Saturday and some Fridays too. In fact, you were here tonight for several hours. Tell me, Mr. Lightwood, how long does it take to verify the viability of a nightclub?”_

_Alec doesn’t answer immediately, but there’s an obvious flush rising up his neck. Magnus is looking at him curiously, but Alec steadfastly avoids his gaze._

_“I didn’t have any other plans, that’s all,” he says eventually._

_“Okay,” Luke says, tilting his head in the direction of Magnus’ office. “Come with me so I can take your official statement.”_

_Alec hesitates but eventually follows the detective. As they take their seats across from each other at the mostly-bare desk, Luke says, “Tell me about your night.”_

*

Alec shows up to the club some time before nine p.m. Closer to 8:30, really. Give or take fifteen minutes. So roughly 8:10. Or in that general vicinity. 

Okay, it’s 8:01. Which is technically after eight p.m., so fuck you, Jace; it’s not creepy.

It’s as late as Alec can wait. He’s been sitting in his car for thirty minutes trying to pass the time, and he’s been looking forward to this all week. He hasn’t seen Magnus since last Saturday, and he’s decided that tonight is the night. Tonight he’s actually going to tell Magnus how he feels. It’s happening. He’s had this conversation with himself a few (hundred) times, but this is it. For real.

Jace rolls his eyes when Alec passes through the club’s entrance, and Alec hears his brother mutter, “Fuck, you are so broken,” which is definitely uncalled for. But Alec ignores him and makes his way towards the stairs to claim his usual booth. It’s definitely his favorite area of the club. It’s not a second floor, not really; it’s more like a rectangular balcony around the periphery of the dance floor. There are a few tables and booths scattered throughout the balcony, but typically anyone that comes up here is just trying to get away from the music. They’ll lean on the railing, casually nursing a beer, or peer over the side with a tightly gripped martini.

But not Alec. He lays claim to a booth far from the stairs, unloads his briefcase, and starts to work. There are probably a million places better suited for his paperwork, but those places don’t have a direct view to Magnus Bane, club owner of Pandemonium and easily the most beautiful man Alec has ever seen. And, coincidentally, the man Alec has been in love with for a year.

Magnus isn’t here yet, Alec is disappointed to see, but he’ll be here. He’s always here.

So Alec gets to work. It’s probably boring to most people, although Magnus pretends to be interested every time they talk about it. Magnus pretends to be interested in everything Alec talks about, really. It’s another one of those things about him that Alec is just totally – what’s the word for this thing anyway?

Gone, maybe. Alec is so far gone over Magnus that he couldn’t even find his way back at this point. Not that he wants to. Seeing Magnus, talking to him, it’s the highlight of his week. It started when he first decided to invest, and it just hasn’t faded since then.

“Well, hello, Alexander,” Alec hears a voice above him say. He glances up, a smile already spreading across his face.

“Hey, Magnus,” he says. “Busy night.”

Magnus makes a humming noise then gestures to the seat beside him. “Mind if I join you?”

Alec’s heart starts beating double time. “Sure – yeah, here, just let me move these,” he says, fumbling with a small stack of papers. Magnus is watching him, and Alec can feel a flush spreading up his neck. He assumes it matches the scarlet tie around his neck quite nicely, the one that suddenly feels way too constrictive.

“As long as it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, no,” Alec stumbles. “Please.”

Magnus gives him a beautiful smile then takes a seat. “You look busy. The Jade Wolf acquisition?”

Alec gives him a quizzical look. “How did you…?”

“I listen when you speak, you know,” Magnus says, still smiling.

Suddenly, there’s a voice calling Magnus from across the way, someone clearly waiting for him at his own table. When Alec looks over, he sees a man who’s definitely handsome and definitely more exciting than boring Alec and his boring black suit.

Magnus follows his gaze then looks at Alec expectantly. 

“He’s – he seems nice,” Alec says. Even to his own ears, it sounds weak.

“Oh,” Magnus says, startled. “Do you want – I could always introduce you two.” 

“No,” Alec says immediately. “I mean, no thank you. There’s already – there’s kind of someone…”

And this is his moment. This is when Alec will finally get the nerve. But as he opens his mouth to finally say the words:

“Ah,” Magnus tells him, voice soft and resigned. He stands up and gives Alec a smile, though it’s clearly forced. “I understand.”

Alec furrows his brow and ventures, “You… do?”

“Well, I should – you probably want to finish your work,” he tells him, with one final wave.

Alec stares after him, baffled. But then it clicks. Alec wanted to tell him how he felt, Magnus understood… and he walked away anyway.

There’s a pang of hurt that ripples through him. He’s been coming here for months, and Magnus has known, and maybe in a way he even led Alec on, and for a minute, everything hurts.

He tries to focus on the papers in front of him, but he’s embarrassed and distracted, and he doesn’t get much work done. How did he miss so many signs?

Because there was an attraction there the first time they met; he knows Magnus felt it too. When he shook Magnus’ hand, when they locked eyes, it was… magnetic. Alec had never felt anything like it before. And in the year since, there’s been nothing with anyone else that’s even come close.

They had some dinner meetings in that time, evenings in which Alec could barely tear his eyes away from Magnus.

Then there were meetings over coffee where they discussed the logistics. Afternoons in which Alec could barely stop staring at Magnus’ mouth, lost in a daydream about what it would be like to finally just lean in…

But then the club opened and there were fewer reasons for them to meet, so Alec started stopping by briefly, just to say hello, just to catch a quick glimpse of this beautiful man who he was terrified was going to slip through his fingers. Each time Alec saw him, he thought surely it would have to be soon that Magnus could look at him and see potential boyfriend material and not just a business partner.

And then the visits to the club became… less brief and definitely more frequent. Alec would sit at a booth and sometimes Magnus would stop by, and they’d talk, and god Magnus was charming and funny and generous and still so _so_ beautiful.

But when Alec started coming regularly, he was able to see that maybe he wasn’t as special as he thought. There was always someone in Magnus’ booth with him, staring at Magnus, listening to him, trying to crowd into his personal space. Doing all of the things Alec wanted to be doing.

So Alec stopped going. Not seeing Magnus was easier than seeing Magnus with other people.

… But that lasted all of three weeks. It’s not like he had to see Magnus do anything. If Magnus was taking these men and women out, if it was ever anything more than flirting in a booth, if Magnus ever reciprocated, then they took it elsewhere. Alec figured that if he never had to see much, he could handle it.

Which inevitably led to his weekly Saturday set up in a darkened corner of a nightclub.

Which then inevitably led to Alec being abandoned in a booth, staring after Magnus, heartbroken.

He should go. This was a mistake.

“You don’t look so hot,” Maia says to him, breaking Alec from his thoughts.

He looks up sharply, though his eyes are still a little unfocused. “Maia. Hey.”

She glances over her shoulder to Magnus then back to Alec, and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “What are you working on?”

“Uh,” he answers, looking back down to the papers in front of him and not remembering a damn thing. “Just packing up.” 

He starts to arrange the papers into an organized pile but pauses when Maia says, “I’ll grab you a drink. On the house.”

Alec doesn’t want a drink. He really doesn’t want to stay here and embarrass himself in front of Magnus any further, but he hesitates anyway. “I’m okay, Maia. But thanks.”

“Stay,” she demands, and Alec’s a little taken aback by the tone of her voice.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. She nods, satisfied, and Alec pulls out his phone to distract himself so he doesn’t stare at Magnus and his… friend. When a drink appears in front of him a few moments later, he’s surprised to see a male hand attached to the glass, one with dark nail polish and adorned with rings. Hands he’s fixated on more than once.

“Vodka, sprite, a splash of pineapple and cranberry, lime twist, and chocolate syrup,” Magnus says. “If memory serves.”

Alec meets his eyes, lips parting in surprise. “You remembered that?”

Magnus looks at him quizzically and confirms,“Of course I do. We added it to the menu.”

Alec rolls his eyes, “No you didn’t.”

“We did,” Magnus insists. “We call it ‘The Alexander.’”

“You do not.”

“We do,” Magnus says again. “Granted, you’re the only one that orders it. Most people don’t find chocolate syrup complementary to vodka and fruit.”

Alec takes the drink from Magnus’ hand, pleased. “Thank you. That’s really… thoughtful.” He takes a sip and realizes everyone else is crazy; this drink is amazing.

“May I?” Magnus asks, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Alec nods. “Sure.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Finally, Magnus says, “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Alec asks, confused.

“I just thought…” Magnus trails off. “I suppose I assumed we were on the same page, and that’s my fault. I should have made my intentions clearer. Sooner.”

“Oh,” Alec says, stomach plummeting. “Right. Yeah, me too, I guess.”

Of course. Magnus wanted to be friends, Alec wanted more, and they just never thought to check.

Magnus’ hand reaches for Alec’s, though he pulls back before they can touch, and Alec aches for just some contact. “I don’t want that to mean I won’t see you and you stop coming by,” he insists. “We can still be – friends, of a sort, right?”

“Right,” he says, dully. “Friends. Definitely.” And he means it. Magnus has become the highlight of his week, and he doesn’t want to let that go just because Magnus doesn’t want him back. “Friends,” he says with more conviction and a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Magnus smiles back, and Alec’s heart skips a beat. He’s not sure how he’s going to be friends with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, but he’s sure as hell going to try.

They sit there for a few moments until Magnus jumps into a story about the racoon in the back alley he befriended, who he’s now named Gilbert, and how the friendship has been progressing. Alec tries to keep the besotted look off of his face, but he’s not sure how well he succeeds. Then Magnus is asking him about his day, so Alec tells him about the problematic copier machine and the new intern who broke it, and Magnus looks riveted for the rest of the conversation, which is kind of surreal.

If this is what it’s going to be like being friends with Magnus Bane, he’s pretty sure he can handle it.

And when Magnus has to leave and Alec watches him meet up with a few other people who are probably also in love with Magnus, he tells himself he can handle that, too.

He finally turns back to his work, the smile still lingering on his face, and he’s finally able to focus.

Until he hears the scream. 

_*_

_Detective Garroway turns to the redhead next. “Can you tell me about what you do, Ms. Fairchild?”_

_“I’m the bartender,” Clary says. “You know, making drinks, manning the register, taking care of anyone sitting at the bar.”_

_Isabelle huffs out a laugh. “Taking ‘care’ of."_

_Luke doesn’t comment but pulls out his pencil and notebook. “How was the bar tonight? Would you say you were exceptionally busy?”_

_She frowns, thoughtful. “I suppose just as busy as we are every Saturday.”_

_Luke nods. “On the camera, there were several men and women sitting at the bar the entire evening. Any boyfriends, girlfriends?”_

_She scoffs. “No, Detective. I’m single. Very, very, very single.”_

_Clary’s sweet demeanor has faded into bitterness, and she narrows her eyes, looking somewhere just over Isabelle’s head._

_Luke nods again. “Did you see anything unusual tonight? Any new customers? Anyone acting out of the ordinary?”_

_She shakes her head. “No, sir. Everything was exactly the same as it usually is,” she says, before adding, “Exactly. The. Same,” punctuating each word. “Nothing ever changes.”_

_Luke writes a few more notes. “The bar is covered by two separate cameras, but can you account for the moments you weren’t behind the bar?”_

_“Maia was there!” Clary says, sounding defensive and shooting a look at her boss. “It’s not like I abandoned my responsibilities!”_

_“I understand, and I’m not questioning your work ethic,” Luke tells her. “I just need to know where you were for those chunks of time you were unaccounted for.”_

_She raises her chin high in defiance and says, “Nothing. I was doing absolutely nothing with anyone; not anymore.”_

_Isabelle looks briefly ashamed, but Clary ignores it._

_“Okay, well, please follow me to make your official statement,” Luke says._

_Clary nods, then makes her way out from behind the bar to follow the detective. Once they’re seated across from each other at the desk inside the office, Luke says, “Please tell me about your night.”_

*

Her shift doesn’t start until five, but Clary shows up a half hour early anyway. It’ll be busy tonight, thanks to Magnus’ new promo, and since Isabelle’s shift started at four, maybe she’ll get to talk to her for a bit before they have to actually work.

Clary throws her purse behind the bar counter and tucks her phone into her back pocket. They’re new jeans, bright green to set off her hair, and she wants to draw attention to them. Well, Isabelle’s attention, anyway. It’s been ages since they started this thing, this ‘ _let’s make out in the stockroom on our cigarette break’_ thing, and it’s gotten, well, tiring. Clary’s tired of it.

She wants more.

“Hey you,” Clary says as she walks up to Isabelle, who’s wiping down tables.

Isabelle peeks over her shoulder, and her face lights up when she sees Clary. “Hey,” she says back, tossing the rag on the table. “You’re here early.”

Clary shrugs, unable to keep a smile off her face. When Isabelle’s around, Clary is _always_ smiling. “I wanted to see you.”

Isabelle’s eyes flicker, and her smile falters briefly. “Wow, our shift hasn’t even started, and you’re already ready for a round in the supply closet. Who would have known you were such a rebel underneath the good girl façade?”

“Oh,” Clary says, startled. “No, I meant like, _see_ you. To say hi before my shift starts.”

Isabelle gives her a bright smile, but it’s obviously faked. “Sure, wanna help clean tables? There’s more sanitizer and a few rags at the corner booth.”

She quickly heads to the next table, her back to Clary, and Clary just stands there, confused.

She could have sworn they were on the same page about this. It’s not like Clary has been all that subtle; she’s started hinting at it more and more recently. When they all go out to eat after work, she makes sure to sit next to Isabelle in the booth and really press into her personal space. She’s been texting Isabelle pretty frequently, too – ever since Clary casually asked for her number, under the guise of ‘just in case we need to switch shifts,’ even though Isabelle has never tended bar in her life. At first, it was on her days off, and then it was on Isabelle’s days off, and now it’s just whenever Clary’s thinking about her.

Which is often.

And Isabelle texts back. Sometimes it’s just dumb memes, sure, but sometimes it’s real stuff, and Clary spends a significant amount of time trying to craft a response. Isabelle never talks about boyfriends or girlfriends, and Clary is just _ready_.

Apparently, Isabelle is not.

So Clary helps her clean the tables in silence until it’s time for her to head to the bar to get ready for the night.

“I’m gonna head over to set up the bar,” Clary tells her, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

Isabelle turns and gives Clary a smile, a _real_ one that makes it all the way to her eyes, and says, “Thanks for your help. It was… sweet.”

And suddenly Clary’s mood shifts again, and she smiles back. “Don’t forget to stop by the bar tonight.”

“Do I ever?” Isabelle asks, winking.

Clary turns and feels Isabelle watching her walk away, which only kicks her smile up a notch or two.

The rush starts around seven, and it never really stops, but every once in a while Isabelle pauses by the end of the bar to wait for her drinks and shoots Clary a few suggestive looks. During her shifts Clary lives for those moments, the moments where she knows Isabelle wants her, but when she also thinks Isabelle wants more than just the supply closet.

There’s a lull around nine, and sure enough, Isabelle appears at the counter and raises her eyebrow. Clary glances around the bar to double-check that everyone seems to be good on drinks, and she catches Maia’s eye.

“Mind if I take a quick break, Maia?”

Maia glances up at Clary then her gaze falls on Isabelle. She rolls her eyes and Clary takes that as permission.

Isabelle practically shoves Clary into the closet before locking the door behind them, then pushes her against the back wall of the tiny room, causing a few glass bottles to rattle on the nearby shelves.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this all night, ever since you walked into work with those tight pants – do you even know how hot you are?” Isabelle sighs, breathing against Clary’s neck, her dark hair tumbling down in front of her shoulders.

Clary can’t help but smile back, and her eyes slip closed as Isabelle’s hands slide lower and lower. 

“We should do this in a bed some time,” Clary says, though she’s barely coherent.

Isabelle pauses and pulls back slightly. “What?”

Clary’s eyes open, and she already misses Isabelle’s warm hands. “Or – or a movie? Maybe dinner? Both?”

Isabelle stares at her and pulls back further. Clary tugs her shirt down, feeling oddly self-conscious despite what they were just doing moments ago.

“I should go,” Isabelle says finally, eyes falling. She heads back for the door, and her hand hovers on the doorknob before finally unlocking it and heading back to the bar.

Clary stares after her, completely stunned and replaying the entire conversation over and over in her head.

She’s distracted for the next hour and somehow messes up four orders in a row. She suddenly forgets how to make martinis, and gives two customers the wrong change.

Maia, who’s looking more and more irritated as she has to keep cleaning up Clary’s mistakes – quite literally – finally says, “Just go. Go find Isabelle and work out whatever shit just went down, or so help me god, you will regret the day you ever stepped foot in this place.”

Clary looks at her, eyes wide, and says, “I’m fine.”

“You’re anything but fine. If I have to clean up another broken glass or remake another Cosmo…”

“Fine, fine,” Clary says, making her way out from behind the bar. She’s already looking for Isabelle but can’t find her in the crowd, so instead, she heads towards the breakroom. Before she even gets there Clary finds Isabelle in the hallway, back against the wall and staring at her hands. She looks exhausted.

“Hey,” Clary says quietly. She keeps her distance because the last thing she needs is to scare Isabelle off again.

Isabelle meets her eyes, and Clary is taken aback by the vulnerability she sees there. She’s never seen her look this open or exposed or… beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, unable to stop the words before they tumble out.

Isabelle blinks a few times. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

Which is not what Clary expected to hear. Her heart skips a few beats, and her stomach sinks. “What?” she asks, almost inaudible.

“We’re not dating, Clary. I’m not your girlfriend. This is just… it was supposed to be just some _fun_ ,” Isabelle says, suddenly angry, though somehow it doesn’t seem to be directed at Clary. She says a few other things, but Clary can’t hear them over the ringing in her ears. 

She takes a few steps backwards and refuses to let Isabelle see her cry.

She spends the rest of her shift quiet behind the bar. It finally slows back down, so she’s by herself again, and she manages to remember how to make martinis and give people the correct change. All she can think about is getting home and putting on pajamas and sleeping this off –

And then she hears the scream.

*

_Detective Garroway then looks at the kid in the chunky, horn-rimmed glasses trying to avoid eye contact. “Mr. Lewis,” Luke says. “Tell me what you do here.”_

_Simon glances up, nervous and twitchy. “Uh – the music. I’m the DJ,” he says, waving his arm in the general direction of the booth in the corner on high-risers. “I was up there all, well, most of the night. Basically the whole night, though! Like I definitely wasn’t away long enough to kill a person!”_

_The blond bouncer, leaning casually against the wall, rolls his eyes. “Long enough to fool around with Maia in the stockroom.”_

_“What was that?” Luke asks. “The stockroom?”_

_Simon looks quizzically in Jace’s direction. “What? I wasn’t – we weren’t – I wasn’t doing that! It’s a liquor stockroom; I was helping her, like, stock… liquor.”_

_Jace frowns and shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever, it doesn’t affect me, man. I was just explaining where you were and how long you were gone.”_

_Luke jots a few notes in his book. “Is that true, Mr. Lewis? You can attest to being alone with Ms. Roberts for every moment you weren’t on camera?_

_“Well, some of them,” Simon says. “But you’re making it sound way worse than it was. I was up at the booth almost the whole night!”_

_“Okay,” Luke says. “But why don’t you follow me so I can take your official statement?”_

_Simon sighs but nods, and he glances at the bouncer as he walks by, but Jace only gives him an annoyed glare as he passes. He takes a seat across from the detective once he gets in the room and stares at his hands, looking fidgety._

_“Okay, Mr. Lewis, tell me about your night.”_

*

Simon’s at the club exactly when he normally is, except really he should have been there way earlier to set up his new equipment. It’s just… he almost hates working at Pandemonium anymore. He _likes_ it, always has, but it’s starting to be bad for his self-esteem. Simon’s had this irrational… _thing_ for the bouncer for like, months now, but the bouncer hates him, no matter what Simon tries, and it’s really not good for his mental health.

He notices when Jace comes in (late) because of course he does; he always notices Jace. Today he looks like some iconic movie star rebel and it… does things for Simon, even though he knows it’s all natural for Jace. He doesn’t even _try_ to look that good, but he nails it anyway.

Meanwhile, Simon looks, well, like he always does. He glances down and sees the mustard yellow hoodie with a giant panda on it. It essentially screams _Please like me! Be my friend! I’m harmless! My happiness is dependent on your opinion!_

And people _do_ like Simon; everyone likes Simon, really. Except for Jace. Jace, for some reason Simon has yet to discern, fucking hates him. Which definitely stings because it’s Jace’s attention that he wants. Well, he wants more than just attention, but Simon will take what he can get.

After a good twenty minutes of struggling, Maia shows some mercy and comes over to help.

“Hey, do you need a hand?” she asks.

“Yes,” Simon answers, relieved. “Can you grab that thing -”

“I’ll be right back; let me go grab Jace.”

Simon’s eyes widen. “Wait what? No no, I’m good Maia. Totally have this on my own. Look, see? I’m good to go. Practically finished already.”

There are like, two pieces assembled and two thousand left to go, so she ignores him, and he begins to panic. This is his nightmare, being alone with Jace while Simon can’t complete the most basic of menial tasks.

Jace finally comes over, reluctant and somehow already annoyed even though Simon hasn’t even said a single word, and how can he already be angry if _Simon hasn’t even said a single word_? It shouldn’t be possible but, well, it is.

“I’m really really sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “I told Maia I could do this on my own, that I didn’t need any help." 

Jace just rolls his eyes and bites out, “Whatever.” But he grabs a few pieces and gets to work anyway. How he’s doing it all without an instruction manual… it’s just another one of those things that Simon finds really really attractive.

Simon’s not really sure what words come out of his mouth because he’s stressed out and under a lot of pressure, but he tries to explain that he’s not actually super bad at this, that it’s new for his birthday, that he’s not some incompetent jackass -

"It’s your birthday?” Jace asks, and Simon blinks because he doesn’t even remember saying that part out loud.

“Well, technically tomorrow,” he answers. And then for some insane, nonsensical, inexplicable reason, Simon says, "We’re going out to celebrate after work, that twenty-four-hour diner down the road? If you want to come?" 

He asks Jace out. What the fuck.

"Oh, uh,” Jace says, looking paralyzed. Maybe because the nerd he hates just asked him out on a date.

Simon rushes to justify himself, maybe make it look a little less bizarre, act casual. "Look, I know you hate me, but I swear I’m nice, and I won’t talk about Star Wars even once if you decide to come -”

Oh shit, he’s rambling; so much for casual.

But Jace just stares at him and says "I… don’t hate you.”

Simon briefly wonders if he’s having a hallucination or just a full-on out-of-body experience and says a bunch of gibberish until, thankfully, Maia comes to rescue him.

“Juices stocked up, crisis averted. How can I help?" 

Relief floods through him. A lifeline. Maybe he can convince Jace to spend just like ten measly minutes with him if he thinks it’s a group thing and that he won’t be left alone with Simon.

So Simon, despite not having any plans with Maia whatsoever, or even telling her it was his birthday at all, says "Jace is going to come out with us for my birthday hash browns." 

There’s a deafening silence as he desperately waits for Jace to commit, but instead –

"Actually, I’m busy,” Jace says, somehow annoyed again, and he turns to walk back toward the club entrance. And how the hell did Simon manage to piss Jace off in the period of five fucking seconds?

“Wait! Jace – hey, wait!” he calls out after him, but Jace just keeps walking.

“Smooth,” Maia tells him. “Real smooth, Romeo.”

Simon narrows his eyes at her. “I told you not to ask him for his help. Now everything is just a billion times worse.”

“I made things worse?” she asks, skeptical. “You’re not serious.”

Simon sighs and tries to focus on the poles in front of him. “Whatever, I need to finish this up. Don’t you have stuff to do? Managing stuff?”

Maia shakes her head and quietly says to herself, “Oh my god,” as she walks away.

So Simon is left blissfully alone, and after one more dejected glance to the front entrance, he finishes assembling and setting up his equipment, right in time for Magnus to come out and survey the readiness of his club for the evening. Moments later, he’s playing the music, and he only looks towards the front entrance a handful of times. Like five. Or ten. 

But then something _happens_. Simon sees some jackasses from high-school, dumb jocks that used to torment him, and they’re being thrown out through the front door. Despite how far he is from them, Simon can see how pissed Jace is, and something just _snaps_ in him.

He’s not the same scared kid from high-school anymore, the terrified band nerd that just suffered through all the shit high-school bullies do to torment classmates. He’s not that kid. He hasn’t been that kid in a long time. So fuck it.

He’s going to suck it up and just tell Jace. He’s going to be a grown-up and do a grown-up thing. Because he’s not that scared kid, not now.

Simon finds himself taking several purposeful steps towards the front door without even giving it conscious thought, and he’s desperately relieved that there’s no one waiting to get in because even if he’s brave enough to do this, he’s not brave enough to do it in front of an audience.

Jace has his back to him and Simon takes a deep breath.“So I get it,” he starts. “I mean, I don’t quite get it, but I also do. I don’t know what I first did to piss you off, but it’s driven me crazy for the last… however long you’ve been working here. I wish I could like, take it back or fix it or just do it all over again but… well, that’s not how the world works, I guess.”

Jace doesn’t say anything to encourage him, but he doesn’t say anything to _stop_ him either, so Simon takes it as a sign to keep going.

“And I – look, I like you. I think you could have fun if you just like, gave me a chance, you know? And Maia could come, if that’s less weird for you than just being full-on alone with me. But she also doesn’t have to come, if you wanted to do something just the two of us…”

Simon trails off because Jace still hasn’t said a single word. If Simon’s self-esteem was questionable before, it’s officially non-existent now.

“Yeah. Yeah, totally,” he says to Jace’s back. “I’ll just… go.”

Simon waits for a moment to see if maybe Jace will finally turn and simply _acknowledge_ him, even if it’s just a glare or an annoyed look – but nothing, so he starts to take the long, dejected walk back to his DJ booth. Maia intercepts him halfway there, though, and says, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Simon sighs. “Can we just… not? I completely humiliated myself, and I want to get through the rest of the night without doing anything else completely ridiculous.”

Maia gives him an assessing look then glances over his shoulder towards the entrance. “God, you’re all completely hopeless. Come here.”

She nods in the direction of the back hallway, and Simon follows her reluctantly. He’s not really sure where she’s leading him, the break room maybe, when she unceremoniously shoves him into the liquor closet.

“Look, I couldn’t care less about what happened because you’re all completely helpless, but you’re going to sit here until you cool off. You look like someone just set fire to your Star Wars figurines, and I can’t have my DJ up there looking like a dejected love-sick loser, so get your shit together.”

“Maia, you don’t even know what just hap-”

“Didn’t I just say I don’t care?” Maia asks with an arched eyebrow. “Normally I wouldn’t get involved, but I don’t have the time or resources to find another DJ. Or another bartender or another – god, just sit here, okay?”

Simon stares at her but eventually nods.

She eyes him warily, then leaves him there alone. He spends the next few minutes playing on his phone in order to distract himself from replaying the last disastrous ten minutes. He doesn’t succeed at _all_ , but there’s really not anything he can do about it now. Maybe he’ll find a new job, or better yet, maybe he’ll become a recluse. Anything to never have to look Jace in the eye again. Before he can devolve into more madness though, Maia opens the door and peeks in. 

“Are you ready to rejoin the world of functional adults?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m good. Everything’s good. All things are… good.”

She rolls her eyes but lets him out of the closet and he heads back up to finish the night of playing music and regretting every life decision he’s ever made. It’s pretty time-consuming, rethinking every choice that led him to this awful night, but he sticks with it.

Until he hears the scream.

*

_Detective Garroway shifts his gaze to Isabelle Lightwood._

_“Can you describe your connection to this club, Ms. Lightwood?”_

_“I’m a server,” she says, tossing her long, wavy hair over her shoulder. “I keep the customers happy.”_

_There’s a small, bitter laugh from the bartender, and Isabelle’s smile falls briefly. She ignores the scoff, though, and shoots the detective another smile. “I’m in charge of the floor, Detective, and I wouldn’t have time to kill anyone even if I wanted to.”_

_“I can vouch for her,” the redhead pipes up from where she’s standing by the bar. “She’s right; she spent the entire night flirting and letting the customers flirt with her. She does her job very well.”_

_There’s an awkward cattiness in her tone, and the room is silent._

_“So you can provide an alibi for Ms. Lightwood?” Luke asks Clary. “For the entire evening?”_

_Clary’s bitter expression fades, and she glances at Isabelle briefly before looking away. “No, Detective. I can’t,” she says quietly._

_“I was on the floor the entire night,” Isabelle tells the cop with conviction. “Check the video cameras.”_

_“We did,” Luke counters. “And there are several spots that are just slightly out of the line of vision. Anything you know about that?”_

_Isabelle returns his stare, “Absolutely not, Detective.”_

_He makes a humming noise and finally says, “Let’s go into the office so I can take your official statement.”_

_She follows him, heels clacking on the hard tile, and when she sits across from him, her eyes are still hard and unforgiving._

_“So tell me about your night, Ms. Lightwood.”_

*

Isabelle shows up to work exactly on time. Her makeup is on point, her hair is perfectly in place, and she looks damn good in her peacock-blue minidress. Clary’s going to lose her mind.

Her smile falters at the thought of Clary, though. Isabelle knows it’s coming, that moment when Clary’s going to ask for more, and Isabelle is already dreading the day. Obviously Clary would want more; she’s not exactly the type of girl that settles for a long-term work booty call. If she was, well, Isabelle wouldn’t be in the predicament she is now: half in love with her long-term work booty call.

Because she can’t give Clary more. She’s awful at relationships, and this isn’t one she’s willing to sacrifice. She can see it now – they try their hand at dating, Isabelle fucks it up like she always does, Clary quits her job, and Isabelle never sees her again. No more hookups in the supply closet, sure, but worse: no more texts, no more flirty banter, no more beautiful smiles.

No. Just no. She can’t risk it.

Which is what she tells herself on repeat after Clary suggests dinner and a movie, and after Isabelle just leaves her there, alone in a stockroom.

She spends the next twenty minutes replaying the conversation in her head and starts wondering, _But what if I didn’t? What if I didn’t mess this one up?_ It’s a good thought, and as much as she tries to tamp it down, it keeps getting louder and louder.

Or at least until she sees who’s at the booth in the corner. Irony of ironies, as Isabelle is slowly edging towards thinking, _I could do it; Clary and I could make it work_ , she finds herself face to face with almost every ex she’s ever had.

“Isabelle!” Lydia says, startled. “I didn’t know you worked here!”

Isabelle tries to regain her composure. “Oh. Hi. Hey – hi, Lydia.”

The last thing Isabelle needs is a stark reminder of all of her failed relationships, but here they are, _together_ , like some sort of club. Sebastian is looking at her curiously, while Helen and Aline are cuddled up in the corner. And isn’t that just great – two of her exes now together. Awesome.

“It’s – it’s good money,” Isabelle says, though she’s not sure why she’s trying to defend a job she loves. But that’s always how it was with Lydia; trying to prove herself good enough. With Sebastian, she was too much, with Aline she wasn’t enough, and with Helen, well – that one she doesn’t like to even remember.

“I bet,” Lydia says, eyes roaming up Isabelle’s half-naked body, obviously judging Isabelle’s skin-tight blue dress.

Isabelle tries to regain her footing. “So what can I get you?” she asks the group. “Clary makes a mean martini.”

Lydia’s eyes glance to the redhead at the bar, and Isabelle can tell exactly what’s going through her mind. “Your latest conquest?” she asks, with a knowing smile.

“It’s not like that,” Isabelle says, more sharply than she intended.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lydia says quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Isabelle’s not quite sure where this defensiveness is coming from but – well, that’s a lie. She knows exactly why she’s reacting like this.

“I really didn’t mean anything by it,” Lydia tells her quietly, as the other three resume their conversation. “I wish you all the best. I think, I _hope_ , that someday you’ll want someone enough to make it work.”

Isabelle isn’t sure how to respond, so she says, “Okay, I’ll have the bartender surprise you then. I’ll be right back!” Because if there’s anything Isabelle knows how to do, it’s deflect. She’s been doing it for years.

She ignores Clary’s gaze when she puts the drink orders in, pretends she doesn’t feel Clary watching her as she bounces between tables, ignores the pang in her stomach when she thinks about Clary hurting… and Isabelle being the cause of it.

Everything is happening so quickly, and she’s barraged with images. Clary’s face in that stockroom, Lydia’s pity at the table, her own face when her phone lights up with a text from Clary, her smile when she can feel Clary watching her walk away. 

God, she just needs a minute to _think_.

Isabelle starts to make her way towards the front door but she can see her brother looking almost as miserable as she feels. So instead, she heads for the stairwell to the second floor, where she can hopefully find a place to regroup. When she gets to the top, she sees her boss sitting at a booth to the left, and her _other_ brother sitting at a booth to the right, also looking miserable, and shit, what’s up with the Lightwoods tonight?

She has no choice but to stand at the top of the stairwell and just… think.

Obviously, because the universe hates her, it’s the perfect vantage point to watch Clary at the bar. She’s so beautiful that even now, months after they started this thing, Isabelle is still taken aback by how absolutely charmed she is by a girl-next-door redhead in a tank top. She moves between customers with grace, though it’s still blatantly obvious she’s distracted, her head somewhere else. Probably still on that conversation in the stockroom. 

Isabelle also has the perfect vantage point to watch everyone seated at the bar and how they watch Clary. They’re all taken with her; hell, half of them come to this club solely to be on the other end of that charming smile. Everyone wants Clary, and Clary wants Isabelle.

And Isabelle is terrified because if she fucks this up, there are dozens of men and women waiting on the sidelines ready to swoop in. She couldn’t handle seeing that, watching Clary move on.

 _So don’t give her a reason to move on_ , her brain whispers.

A few minutes later, Isabelle finally has her breath back. She takes careful steps down the stairs and gets back to work. It’s busy, the part of the night when people down the booze like water, so she’s finally got a distraction from her painful, non-existent love life. But it’s also the part of the night right before she usually meets Clary in the stockroom for ten minutes, tugging off their shirts and pushing down each other’s jeans in record-breaking time in order to fool around as much as possible in as short of time as possible.

Isabelle’s stomach drops when she thinks about letting it all go.

“You know, I didn’t think you were the insecure type,” a voice behind her says, and Isabelle whips around to see Maia cleaning a newly-vacated booth behind her. 

“What? I’m not?” she argues, defensive. 

Maia raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re _not_ pushing Clary away because you’re terrified she’ll break up with you eventually?" 

"No,” Isabelle answers, though her voice sounds unsure, even to her.

“Whatever,” Maia sighs, tossing the rag to Isabelle. “Then get your shit together and clean some tables. You’ve been wiping that one down for seven minutes.”

Isabelle watches her go and lets Maia’s words set in. She glances over to the bar to watch Clary mix something in a blender and decides, against her better judgment, to wait for her in the liquor closet. It’s the time they usually meet, and if Clary hasn’t given up on her yet, she’ll be there. Maybe, maybe, maybe… 

So Isabelle walks quickly to the closet and waits there. The minutes tick on and finally, she admits defeat. Of course Clary didn’t come; what did she expect? Isabelle pushed her away. Isabelle is too much effort. Isabelle fucked it up.

The closet is suddenly too claustrophobic, and she can’t get out fast enough. She makes her way to the break room but pauses in the hall to catch her breath. She stands there, back against the wall for several moments, until she hears Clary voice tentatively say, “Hey.’

Isabelle looks up immediately and takes Clary in. She looks so vulnerable, and _Isabelle_ made her that way. The idea of hurting Clary more, or of losing Clary from her life – “I don’t think we should do this anymore.” The words are out of Isabelle’s mouth before she can even try to stop them.

Clary starts backing away from her, and Isabelle already misses what they could have had. Suddenly, Clary’s gone, and Isabelle finds herself still staring after her, alone in an empty hallway. She stands there, expressionless.

And then she hears the screaming.

*

_Detective Garroway turns to look at the bouncer. “And your position here, Mr. Wayland?”_

_“The bouncer,” Jace says, and unlike the others, he doesn’t elaborate, like maybe he has experience with this type of thing and isn’t going to offer anything he doesn’t need to._

_“There’s a camera outside, isn’t that right?” Luke asks. “So we should be able to see you the entire evening. But the officers reviewing the tapes tell me there are several periods of time where you’re nowhere to be found outside. Can you explain your whereabouts for that unaccounted time?”_

_“Sure. I was in the interior hallway over there,” he says, pointing. “Or I was by the bar there,” he adds, gesturing towards where Clary still stands. “Or I was following some drunk punks around. You know… doing my job.”_

_Luke jots down some notes. “And you were at the DJ booth for a significant amount of time. Any reason for that?”_

_“No,” Jace says immediately, looking self-conscious. “Or wait – I mean, yeah, I was just keeping tabs on the drunk frat boys I had to kick out.”_

_“Right,” Luke says. “And how about the times when you’re not on camera? Was that when you mentioned following Mr. Lewis and Ms. Roberts into the stockroom?”_

_“I didn’t say I was following them,” Jace says hotly. “I just happened to notice they were gone. It’s my job to know what’s going on in the club.”_

_He avoids Simon’s gaze, who looks thoroughly confused._

_“Sure. Well, let’s go take your official statement.”_

_Jace begrudgingly follows him, and makes deliberate eye contact when he’s seated across from the detective._

_“Mr. Wayland, tell me about your night.”_

*

Jace is five minutes late for his shift, which is a lot better than his standard fifteen or the occasional half-hour. He spent a few extra minutes in front of the mirror today, for no particular reason. 

No reason. There were zero reasons. 

And even if there _had_ been a reason, which there isn’t, it wouldn’t have been because it’s Saturday and the weekend DJ would be playing. 

But that’s not the reason. Because there are no reasons that Jace stayed in front of his mirror, bought a few new hair products (because it takes a lot of product to look like your hair’s so natural that it doesn’t need product), and tested a different aftershave. He went back and forth on collar up or collar down before he gave up and just put on a simple white t-shirt. From a certain angle, he looked like one of those retro, bad boy movie stars, and Jace thinks that might be the type of thing a nerdy sci-fi DJ finds hot.

Not that he gives a shit what a nerdy DJ thinks.

By the time he shows up, the early birds are already there, claiming their seats at the bar. Clary’s already making a few drinks but she looks up and catches his eye. She winks and cocks her head in the direction of the edge of the bar, where she already has a beer waiting for him. She’s certainly in a good mood tonight. Maybe she’ll even make him a mojito later, or one of the sugary drinks he pretends not to like.

Simon’s setting up his equipment, but Jace glances away quickly as soon as Simon notices him watching. He surveys the rest of the room, but there’s nothing questionable yet. A couple of women drinking wine at a booth, a couple clearly on their first date in the back corner – and that dude is not going home with her; he’ll be lucky to get a kiss goodnight, Jace can already tell. 

Isabelle’s there taking a drink order at one of the tables, wearing something tight and short and revealing, and not something he wants to see his sister wearing. His brother’s not there yet, though, thank god. He has no clue why Alec camps out in one of the booths upstairs to do actual work at a _nightclub_ , but it’s starting to get weird as fuck. 

After taking a quick sweep of the room, he heads outside with a stool and waits for the evening rush. It’s nice being alone out here. He’s never been envious of Clary having to work her ass off behind the bar, or of Maia and the responsibilities she has of a night manager.

Maia.

Apparently one of her responsibilities is boning the weekend DJ but whatever. 

He’s only let a few people in when Maia peeks her head outside. “Hey, can you help Simon with a few of the risers? I have to grab some stuff from the store for Magnus.”

Jace lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Okay, I’m sure no badass thugs are gonna try to sneak in while the door is unmanned, so calm down, tough guy,” she says with an eye roll. “Maybe you two can like, talk about whatever your beef is.”

“I don’t have _beef,_ ” he argues quietly, making a show of getting off of his stool to follow her in. She heads towards the back, and Jace reluctantly heads over to the corner where Simon is still assembling some of the pieces of his booth. 

He looks up as Jace walks over and looks panicked. “I told Maia I could do this on my own, that I didn’t _need_ any help." 

And that stings a little, yeah. Simon would rather have his booth in shambles prior to the evening rush than receive help from Jace. 

"Whatever,” Jace says, voice gruff and annoyed. He grabs a few bars that look like they connect, although he’s definitely not an expert with sound system setups. 

“It’s new,” Simon explains. “It’s not that I’m so bad at my job that I don’t know how to assemble things. I probably should have tested this out before, but where exactly was I going to find a space to try it out, you know?" 

Jace doesn’t say anything, but Simon doesn’t seem all that surprised at his silence. 

"I’m not even sure I like it yet, but it was a birthday present, so I can’t exactly tell my parents 'hey this sucks’ before trying it out, right?" 

Jace pauses. "It’s your birthday?” he asks. 

Simon shrugs. “Well, technically tomorrow.” He hesitates, then looks thoughtful for a moment. “We’re going out to celebrate after work, that twenty-four-hour diner down the road? If you want to come?" 

Jace is still frozen. "Oh, uh.”

“Look, I know you hate me, but I swear I’m nice, and I won’t talk about Star Wars even _once_ if you decide to come.”

“I… don’t hate you,” is all Jace can think to say. 

Simon’s face lights up. “Really? Well then maybe I _will_ talk about Star Wars, now that I know you won’t -" 

And Maia chooses that moment to rejoin them. "Okay, juices stocked up, crisis averted. How can I help?" 

Jace looks down and sees he’s somehow assembled the frame without even realizing it. "Here,” he says, passing the metal pieces together. “See if this fits.”

Simon’s still looking at him with a bright smile, then turns to Maia to say, “Jace is going to come out with us for my birthday hash browns." 

_Us_.

"Actually, I’m busy,” Jace says, voice terse, before turning to head back towards the front door. “I’m sure you two can handle the rest.”

“Wait! Jace – hey, wait!” Simon’s voice calls out to him. He ignores it. 

The next few hours inch by. He lets in more than a dozen teenagers, sixteen-year-olds that legit try to pass off a fake ID of the same forty-year-old veteran, but whatever. They’ll go to the bar, order drinks from Clary, who will then make them a virgin version of whichever drink they want, while still charging them the full price, and everyone wins. The kids think they pulled off some elaborate scheme, Pandemonium makes some extra cash, and Clary takes home a few extra bucks in tips.

He pulls his stool inside as the night goes on, which is when the first notable event of the night happens. Three frat guys are in line to show their IDs when the first says, “Holy shit, is that Simon Lewis up there? The nerd from high school?" 

The DJ booth is pretty far from the front door, but Simon is still pretty recognizable. Not that Jace has noticed. But the second frat bro laughs and says, "Damn, you’re right! God what a fucking dweeb. Now he’s a DJ?" 

The third, currently showing his ID, says, "Okay we gotta fuck with him tonight, just like old times.”

Jace narrows his eyes at all three but says nothing. 

It slows down slightly, thankfully, because Jace’s eyes are following the three jackasses currently inching their way towards the stand. They stood in line for a while waiting for drinks, then hung out ogling Isabelle, before slowly making their way across the dance floor. Jace tracks their movements carefully and notices they each have a glass of water, some napkins, and a pile of straws in their hands. Jace can’t tell if they’re planning to make some elaborate spit ball or if they’re drunk and orchestrating something even dumber, but that’s Simon’s new fucking _birthday equipment_ and fuck that. 

He pushes off his stool and books it over to the other corner. Jace reaches the DJ booth before the frat bros and grabs the first by the wrist, twisting it up and behind his back. The guy immediately cries out in pain and drops his plastic cup of water on the ground. The second lunges at Jace, but Jace manages to dodge the blow and sweeps his foot under the frat kid’s legs, making him immediately tumble to the ground, taking his cup with him. The third stands there, paralyzed, before throwing his hands up in placation, also dropping his cup. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” he says, panicked. “I have a beer pong championship tomorrow!" 

"Pick them up, assholes,” Jace says, gesturing to the empty cups. “And wipe up every fucking drop of water off the floor.”

Jace stands there while they do it, hovering from above to monitor their progress, and he glances over to the front door. More than a few people have entered, but he’s not moving from this spot until all three of these tools have been unceremoniously escorted out of the club. 

After a few minutes, Jace makes his way back across the floor, dodging some drunk dancers in the process and occasionally shoving the frat bros walking in front of him. He glances over his shoulder to see Simon messing around with buttons or knobs or whatever, unaware of the three high school bullies and Jace’s successful takedown of them.

It’s probably for the best that way. 

He throws the three frat bros out through the front door, pushing past the few people crowded around the entrance. “Stay the fuck away,” he tells the three of them, eyes narrowed. 

“What are you, his fucking boyfriend?” asks the one who’s still nursing his wrist. 

Jace thinks about lying and saying yes. Making Simon’s high school bullies believe he has a hot, badass boyfriend would be definite vindication. But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he ignores them, sits back on his stool as he watches them stumble away, and resumes the checking of IDs. 

It eventually settles down enough that he can sit outside and put his headphones in. Jace spends at least a half-hour just relaxing to the music until he senses something – or some _one –_ right behind him. He startles and quickly whips around. There’s no one there, but –

He spots Simon in the crowd, following Maia into the stockroom. 

He blinks, trying to shove down the disappointment, and turns his back to the door. Against his better judgment, he periodically checks the booth to see it’s empty. The music is still playing, but Simon is nowhere in sight. 

It takes _fifteen_ minutes for Simon to make his way back to the booth, not that Jace is checking. He’s not sure what the hell took place in the stock room but he just… he doesn’t care. So Jace turns away and doesn’t glance back even once. 

Until he hears the scream.

*

_Detective Luke Garroway looks finally at Magnus Bane. “And you are, I assume, the club owner?”_

_“I am,” Magnus says with a smile. “Tuesdays are half-off drinks for our first responders, you know.”_

_“Noted,” Luke says, pulling out his notebook. “Now let’s discuss the events of tonight. You are, for most of the evening, in full sight of each of the cameras. Do you have any reliable alibi for those off-camera moments?”_

_“Reliable?” Magnus asks. “Doubtful. But I assure you that I can account for each of those periods if you could supply me the times?”_

_Luke nods and jots a few comments into his notebook. “We noticed you had several drinks over the course of the evening. Do you have any moments in which you can’t remember where you were or what you were doing?”_

_Magnus sighs dramatically, though there’s a genuine resignation on his face. “Oh, you know how it goes. Some of us drink away the sting of an unrequited love.”_

_Alec furrows his brow and briefly glances at Magnus from the corner of his eye._

_“Hm,” Luke says. “Can any of your friends attest to your whereabouts? You were seen on camera with several different men and women all night.”_

_“Possibly,” Magnus says with a casual shrug. “I might recognize them if you could show me video footage. Unfortunately my gaze, and my attention, is usually singularly focused elsewhere.”_

_Alec still looks confused, but Magnus doesn’t meet his eyes._

_“Okay, can you follow me, Mr. Bane, so I can take your official statement?” Luke asks._

_“Of course,” Magnus says._

_Magnus leads them into his office and allows Luke to take the chair behind the desk. The detective settles his notebook atop the desk, pencil ready._

_“So, Mr. Bane, please tell me about your night.”_

*

Magnus is at Pandemonium around seven, considerably early for the rush.

Seven… in the morning.

He doesn’t need to be there because his night manager always has everything handled. It’s just that he has nowhere else he wants to be. His loft is too empty, and the best part of his week happens right here. Well, upstairs in a booth in the corner, to be specific, but still here.

Every week, Alec Lightwood, investor and silent partner, comes in god-only-knows-why and sets up a makeshift desk in the upstairs corner of the nightclub and just… works. Sometimes he has a drink, sometimes he doesn’t, and Magnus spends the whole evening trying not to throw himself at easily the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. 

Magnus has spent a year trying to build something between the two of them, but he’s finally starting to realize, or rather accept, that it’s not going to happen. And he had really thought they were on their way to something… special, meaningful. But that was a while ago.

When they first met, it was like nothing he had ever known. Magnus didn’t exactly believe in love at first sight, but there was something that happened that day. And then there were dinners and lunches which Magnus, foolishly, had thought were dates. It wasn’t until the day Alec had said, _I know we don’t need these meetings anymore, but maybe I could still stop in from time to time_? that Magnus had realized how very wrong he had been. He could have sworn he caught Alec staring at his mouth more than once; he could have sworn he felt Alec’s eyes watching him when he thought Magnus wasn’t looking.

But one last-ditch effort tonight, perhaps. If he’s turned down again, Magnus will take the hint. He won’t push it anymore, and he can learn how to be in love from a distance. It’s not like he hasn’t had his heart broken before. He hadn’t expected it from Alec though.

Magnus stops by his office one final time to give himself yet another appraisal. Alec likes him in purple – Magnus notices Alec stares just a little longer when he wears any shade of it – so he decided to wear his favorite fitted plum jacket to match the streaks he added to his hair. After he’s satisfied, he heads back out to wait for Alec to finally show up. He’s usually at the club around seven, so Magnus is justifiably disappointed when seven-thirty rolls around and Alec still isn’t there. 

He’s doing his obligatory rounds but makes sure to keep his eyes on the door. There are already a few people at Magnus’ usual table waiting for him - a local actress and one of the area’s winery owners, two more people he has to wine and dine for their business and their sway. He’s not looking forward to it, but at least the view will be worth it, assuming Alec claims his usual booth directly opposite.

When Alec finally comes in, Magnus can barely wait five minutes before following him upstairs. He watches Alec for a moment as he spreads his paperwork out, and Magnus takes him in. He’s simply stunning. The tailored suit fits him well, but Magnus has seen him in a simple t-shirt before, and he looked every bit as beautiful then, too.

So he walks over and asks Alec if he can join him, and he thinks, _This is it, one more go of it._

Alec smiles and for one beautiful moment, Magnus knows that they’re on the same page at last. Before Magnus can even open his mouth, though, Alec is distracted by something across the way, and Magnus follows his gaze. It’s the owner of a local distillery, and Magnus is momentarily confused. He hadn’t thought Alec was into the blond hair, blue-eyed Adonis type, but he also hadn’t given it much thought. Misguided as it was, he had, until recently, assumed that _he_ was Alec’s type.

“He seems nice,” Alec says, and Magnus’ stomach drops. Definitely not on the same page, then.

“Oh,” Magnus says eventually. This isn’t how he thought the evening would go. “Do you want – I could always introduce you two.” 

“No,” Alec answers, and Magnus feels a surge of hope, before: “I mean, no thank you. There’s already – there’s kind of someone…”

Oh. 

There’s already someone. How had Magnus missed this? When? Who? Alec is here each weekend, never with anyone else, never even mentioned anyone else. And why wouldn’t he have mentioned it? Unless he never thought he needed to. Unless he assumed he and Magnus were friends this entire time and didn’t _need_ to.

“Ah,” Magnus says eventually, finally accepting what he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge all this time. He stands up and gives Alec a forced smile. “I understand.”

Alec watches him carefully. “You do?”

So Magnus gives him a small wave and makes a hasty exit because he definitely can’t sit here and look at Alec, can’t sit here and see the person he wants but can’t have. He heads for the stairs then beelines for the bar. Clary eventually sees him and quickly makes a martini, a very very dirty one, by the looks of it. Before he can even take a sip, though, another drink is placed unceremoniously in front of him. He meets Maia’s eyes, and she looks incredibly unimpressed.

“Take this,” she says.

He eyes the drink. “No. It looks awful.”

“It’s not _for_ you,” she explains. “It’s for the dude upstairs that’s sitting there _alone,_ looking miserable because you just abandoned him.”

“I didn’t abandon -”

“Get the hell up there and bring him this, Magnus,” Maia says, and she’s definitely not messing around. “Talk to him.”

“I already _did_ talk -”

“Get up there,” she repeats, expression hard.

He blinks and relents, carefully grabbing the drink and making his way back up the stairs. Magnus watches Alec for a moment, and Maia’s right; he does look upset. And why shouldn’t he be? He thought he had a friend in Magnus, and Magnus just left in the middle of a conversation.

He steels himself, then walks up to Alec’s table, placing the drink in front of him. Alec looks up, surprised, and Magnus eventually gestures to the seat beside him. “May I?”

“Sure,” Alec says, and his eyes don’t leave Magnus’.

Magnus pauses and tries to come up with an apology for earlier. He quietly says, “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Alec looks confused, and Magnus isn’t quite sure how to continue. He wants to ask, _What happened? Why don’t you want me back?_ but he knows he can’t. It’s not fair to be upset. Alec can’t be blamed for being careless with Magnus’ heart if he never knew he was holding it.

“I suppose I assumed we were on the same page, and that’s my fault. I should have made my intentions clearer. Sooner.”

“Right. Yeah, me too, I guess,” Alec says, looks at him with such sadness, such pity, and Magnus tries to push down the humiliation of being so wrong for so long. 

He almost reaches for Alec’s hand, but pulls back. That’s not something he should be doing anymore; that’s not what friends do. And suddenly he realizes he’s in danger of letting even _that_ slip away. He can’t have Alec, not in the way he wants, but he can’t lose his friendship, too. Almost in a rush, he says, “I don’t want that to mean I won’t see you, or mean you’ll stop coming by. We can still be – friends, of a sort, right?”

“Friends. Definitely,” Alec replies, though it’s not very convincing, and Magnus feels his stomach sink again. He doesn’t want to have to _convince_ Alec to keep coming around. But Alec eventually smiles and says, “Friends, I’d like that,” and Magnus breathes a little easier. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to be just friends with the most gorgeous man he’s ever met, but he’ll make it work somehow.

They eventually drift into an easy conversation, and Magnus is desperately grateful. He doesn’t want things to be awkward or stilted between them, and he needs easy conversation. He doesn’t want to sit in silence and wonder about Alec’s boyfriend. How long they’ve together, what he looks like, where they met -

No. It isn’t the time to spiral, not right now.

“So tell me about your day,” Magnus says, smiling. He loves watching Alec talk about his day. He loves watching Alec do anything, really.

No.

“It, uh, it wasn’t very interesting. Not like your day, I’m sure,” Alec says. There’s an expression on his face that Magnus can’t quite place. He wonders what it means, if that’s how Alec looks at his boyfriend, because if Magnus didn’t know better, he’d think that look meant -

No. He _does_ know better, so he’s not going down that path.

“I’ve been here since seven a.m.; I’d hardly call my day interesting,” Magnus tells him.

“Seven?” Alec asks with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

He gives Alec a small smile and hopes he doesn’t notice how forced it is. “As much as I love my cat, he doesn’t provide much stimulation. At least here I can keep myself busy.”

“Oh,” Alec says, frowning. “Your - do you not live with…”

But he trails off, and Magnus doesn’t push him. He’d much rather talk about Alec’s day. “So tell me about this copier. Or better yet, the intern. What’s it like working in an office? Do people actually say, ‘Happy Hump Day,’ or is that a myth?”

Alec shakes his head and looks amused. “I don’t know, an office is just, you know, normal. Average. It suits me.”

Magnus’ smile falls. “There’s nothing about you that’s average.” It comes out too serious, out-of-place in this easy conversation, but Alec doesn’t look taken aback.

“Okay,” he replies, voice soft. It’s also out-of-place for a conversation about racoons and interns, but Magnus doesn’t want to break the moment. There’s a brief, intense look shared between the two, until someone across the room ruins it and calls his name.

“I - I should go,” Magnus says eventually. He could swear his disappointment is reflected on Alec’s face -

No. Magnus can’t allow himself to keep going down this path.

“Right,” Alec tells him.

Magnus finally breaks Alec’s gaze and forces himself out of the booth. He spends the rest of the evening trying to secure two new vendors, and he only sneaks a glance to the corner booth a few more times. It’s an uneventful evening, and he thinks he’ll stop by again if the rest of the night runs smoothly.

And then he hears the scream. 

**

“So,” the detective says. “After compiling your statements and integrating video footage, we’ve concluded the following timeline: Between six and seven p.m., Maia was recruiting you, Mr. Wayland, to assist Mr. Lewis in the assembly of his new equipment, so that you would be encouraged to confess your feelings to the DJ.”

Jace’s eyes widen in panic, and his gaze darts to Simon.

“Then between eight and nine p.m., Maia prepared a drink for you, Mr. Lightwood, to prevent you from leaving, with the intent that you would finally address your feelings for Mr. Bane. Also between eight and nine p.m., said drink was given to you, Mr. Bane, to facilitate your confession of love for Mr. Lightwood.”

Magnus and Alec lock eyes, both startled.

“And then between nine and ten p.m.,” the detective continues, “Maia was helping clean tables with you, Ms. Lightwood, to remind you why you’re afraid to admit your feelings for Ms. Fairchild.”

Clary blinks, speechless.

“Between ten and eleven p.m.,” the detective continues, “Maia took over the bar responsibilities for you, Ms. Fairchild, with the assumption that you would again broach the subject of your relationship with Ms. Lightwood so that it wouldn’t appear as if you hadn’t given up.”

Isabelle looks down at the ground, guilty, before finally meeting Clary’s eyes. 

“And between eleven and midnight, Maia was locked in the liquor closet with you, Mr. Lewis, after your failed confession of love to Mr. Wayland.”

Simon’s mouth falls open, and he finally meets Jace’s eyes.

Luke looks around the room, six pairs of eyes all trained on each other.

“And do you know who was with Maia after midnight, the only person who had access to kill her?”

All eyes reluctantly tear themselves away to watch the detective.

“Me, you assholes,” Maia announces, walking down the stairs from the second floor. “I’m so tired of dealing with everyone’s shit, but now everything is out in the open.”

The room is quiet as Maia walks up to the group.

“To be clear,” Magnus says in a controlled voice. “You faked your own death in order to play matchmaker.”

She glares at him, unrepentant.

Magnus gives her an appraising look. “Take the day off tomorrow and see me Monday about your raise.”

“Before you go,” the detective says, “Tell them about your evening, Ms. Roberts.”

*

“Luke?” Maia says, barging into his house during poker night.

He looks up from his cards. “Maia? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, “Look, do you still have that badge from Halloween – that year you went as a cop?”

“Probably,” he answers, confused. “Why?”

Maia pulls out a stack of bills, proposing, “I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you can give me two hours of your time tonight.”

Luke looks at her and hesitates, “Impersonating a cop is a pretty big deal, kid.”

“I promise,” Maia says, placing the money on the table, “That if the plan works, no one will care. I’ll explain the details on the way.”

*

 _Coda_ :

“You’re scared, that’s all this is? What are you so afraid of, Izzy?”

“I can’t – I can’t lose this, Clary! I like you, and I want you, and I want to _be_ with you, but I don’t want to fuck it up and-”

“Wait, back up. What makes you so sure you’re going to mess up?”

“Because I always mess it up!”

“Well, I won’t let you! I’m not going anywhere!”

And then they’re making out on the bar.

-

“I _hate_ you, Simon? Why the fuck do you think I hate you?”

“Uh, maybe because every time I talk to you, you look pissed?”

“Well, stop asking me out on dates with your girlfriend!”

“Maia isn’t my girlfriend!" 

”… Well yeah okay, I know that _now_. You could have _said_ something.“ 

And then they’re making out in the DJ booth. 

-

"You’ve been in love with me for _how_ long, Alexander?" 

"Oh don’t _even,_ Magnus. You’re not allowed to be judgey when I could ask you the same thing!”

“I’ve been asking you out for ages!" 

”…. Wait what. When?“

"I asked you if you wanted to get a drink just last _week_!" 

"Okay, and? I got you a drink!" 

"From my own _bar_? Are you seriously that oblivious?”

“I come to a dark, loud _nightclub_ to do paperwork on the _weekend_! Are _you_ that oblivious?”

And then they make out in the office. 

*

(Epilogue:

Clary and Isabelle see a movie and get dinner then fool around in an actual bed

Jace and Simon have birthday hash browns, alone

Magnus and Alec make up for lost time, like _a lot_

Maia receives an obscene raise

)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a cracky idea that just _spiraled_ so thank you for reading!


End file.
